


Second Circle

by minaasshido



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Bisexual Spencer Reid, But both of them are oblivious, Case Fic, Coming Out, Garcia being the most iconic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Spencer Reid, Pining, Pre-Slash, Prentiss ships it, Spencer Reid-centric, it's kind of Hotch POV at the begining, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minaasshido/pseuds/minaasshido
Summary: The team investigates a case in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and their search for the unsub leads them to a college campus. Answers only seem to lead to more questions, and Spencer forms a connection with one of the suspects that his him revealing parts of himself he thought would stay hidden forever.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 6
Kudos: 286





	Second Circle

“Hotch.” Aaron Hotchner looked up from his desk to see JJ hovering just inside his doorway, looking at him tentatively from behind the file she was holding. Hotch stared at it for a moment, waiting, before raising a single eyebrow at the girl. 

“Case?” he asked. She wouldn’t be coming to him like this if there wasn’t, but if there was a case for sure, they’d be in the briefing room right now, or on the jet. JJ grimaced. “Maybe,” she said, hesitant. “I almost passed it over, but I thought- well. It caught my eye.”

She walked over and handed him the file- it was thin, but when Hotch opened it he noticed that it wasn’t for lack of victims. There were maybe ten candid photos, each of a different victim. The information sheets were pitifully lacking, but he skimmed them over anyway. “Why this one?”

“You remember Cleveland, a couple years ago? How there was that copycat recreating different serial killer’s MOs, and that criminology student was the only one who saw that they were connected?”

Hotch nodded, knowing where this was going. “You think it’s happening again?”

JJ hummed a confirmation. “Yeah. They have a map in there too, with all the sites of the murders marked down. Tell me what you see.”

Flipping through the pages until he found it, Hotch’s eyebrows shot up at the map. The markings formed a dilapidated circle with a few outliers, but the center was still obvious. “Is that a college campus?” 

JJ nodded. “The pattern’s clear. One kill every Thursday or Friday night, alternating each week, right when half the campus goes home for the weekend.”

Hotch frowned up at her. “It’s Wednesday.”

“I know.”

He took a moment to flip through the folder once again. This case was eerily similar to the one in Cleveland, Ohio. That had been a serial killer coming into his own, testing out ways to murder proved to work by others until he eventually found a way that he liked and worked for him. This easily looked like the same thing. Only this time, there were more victims and no clear favored method of killing. 

There was a small chance they might be wrong. Hotch wasn’t about to take it. “Let the team know, wheels up in thirty.”

* * * * *

Rossi looked particularly troubled on the plane as the team listened to JJ explain the intricacies of the case. Hotch could tell that he was remembering the case from Cleveland, and more importantly, the criminology student who’d first brought up her concerns about it only to get killed by the very man she’d been investigating. It was no secret that Rossi blamed himself for her death, and Hotch was a bit worried this case might dredge up some unpleasant memories for him. Maybe it was best to keep a subtle eye on him for this case. 

Hotch tuned back into the conversation as JJ finished up her explanation. “Why are we only seeing this now, with so many victims?” This was Reid, one knee tucked against his chest and an elbow resting on the table. 

“The local police didn’t make the connection until some of them started repeating themselves. There’s no pattern at all- not an obvious one, at least. But then, the same details started popping up. Dark blue sedan seen in the area, same spotless crime scene. All seemed like one-off murders; strangling, stabbing, poisoning, suffocation. A drowning, too. But then, there was another stabbing. Then another suffocation, and a strangling. _Another_ stabbing. Poison. All happening around the same time, either a Thursday or Friday.”

“Poison?” Garcia raised an eyebrow from her spot on the screens. “Isn’t that a little bit old school?”

“Sort of,” Hotch explained. “The unsub injected bleach into their victim’s bloodstream. A lot of it. Could be classified as overkill, but if they’re anything like our guy from Cleveland, they might just not know how much would kill someone, and they wanted to be sure.”

“And there’s no sexual component to any of these crimes?” Emily asked, noticing the careful avoidance of specific pronouns.

“Exactly,” JJ said. “Which means our unsub could be male or female at this point.”

“JJ you said you had a map of the locations?” Reid asked, and JJ nodded, handing it over to him. He skimmed over it, a look of recognition washing over his face. “There’s a clear geographical center.”

“The college campus, yeah. That’s part of the reason we suspect it’s the same killer.”

“Well it certainly makes sense,” Reid admitted. “Most killers tend to start coming into their homicidal tendencies at a young age, which could also explain the experimentation and the overkill with the bleach. Usually they don’t progress to full on serial killing until later, using animals as surrogates, but there’s always exceptions. In 1874, Jesse Pomeroy was arrested for killing multiple children- he was only fourteen. And just last year in India, eight-year-old Amardeep Sada confessed to killing three infants, including his own sister.”

“Jesus Christ,” Emily said. 

Hotch carefully didn’t respond to Reid’s ramblings, and instead brought the conversation back around to the case at hand. “The timeline for the murders goes back a couple months- the killings take place on Thursdays or Fridays with no clear alternating pattern. It’s Wednesday right now. Best case scenario we have two days to figure out who the killer is before they strike again. I don’t think I need to tell you the worst case scenario.”

“We’re almost there,” Rossi noticed, gaze fixed on the view from below the plane. 

“Alright,” Hotch said. “When we land, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, I want you to go to the last crime scene, see what you can pick up. Reid, you and JJ are with me at the station- it’s the one closest to the campus, but we can’t move on site until we’ve got permission. JJ, I want you to talk to the sheriff about moving the investigation to the college campus, and try to coordinate with the police there. See if we can keep the students over the weekend- if the unsub can’t get off campus to kill, maybe it’ll subdue them for a while.”

Emily frowned. “Or they could accelerate, start killing on campus,” she warned.

Hotch grimaced, having already been painfully aware of the fact. “Unfortunately, yes, that is a possibility. But as of right now, we don’t have many other options. At least this way, we might be able to keep the unsub contained within a certain area and narrow the search.”

Nods of agreement circled around the plane, and as the wheels touched down a few minutes later, the investigation was set into motion.

* * * * * 

Reid followed Hotch and JJ into the precinct, and the three of them were greeted almost immediately by a tall, muscular man with a long face and dusty brown hair. His blue eyes were small, and though they had a certain shine to them, they weren’t exceptionally striking. 

“Hello, I’m Detective Harrison,” the man greeted them, holding out his hand to be shaken. Reid lingered a few steps behind his team members to avoid having to reciprocate as JJ took care of introductions.

“Detective Harrison, I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone,” she said, firmly shaking his hand. “These are Agents Aaron Hotchner and Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said the Detective. “Sorry it’s gotta be under these circumstances.” He turned to Hotch. “This your whole team?”

“No, I have three agents checking out the most recent crime scene right now. They should be here soon. I also have a tech consultant who’ll be communicating with us from Quantico.” Harrison nodded, and Hotch got right into it. “So how did you make the connection between the murders?” 

Harrison started walking, gesturing for them to follow. “I’ve got a space set up for you over here,” he told them, before answering Hotch’s question. “Bored intern brought it up first,” he admitted. “Didn’t think there was much to it, really, but then I looked into it, and I thought it might have some merit. Thought I’d send it in just in case. Guess you guys agreed.”

Hotch nodded. “We’ve seen a case or two like this before. First time, it was a serial killer in bloom. Trying to figure out his MO, tried out all sorts of stuff until he formed his own signature.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t take nearly as many tries as this,” Reid mused, his fingers coming up to tap at his chin. “This guy’s already up to ten victims, and there’s no clear order or pattern to the method of killing to indicate anything like that.” 

“Maybe the inconsistency _is_ the MO. The unsub doesn’t care what method as long as the victim dies?” JJ suggested, and Spencer nodded thoughtfully.

“A means to an end,” he realized, agreeing. “Not about the act of killing, but the result of death itself.”

“We won’t rule it out, but we should gather more information first before we settle on a profile,” Hotch reminded them. 

“What kinda sicko would kill someone for the pleasure of doing it?” Harrison asked. It was an angry question, and also probably rhetorical, but Reid couldn’t help responding anyway.

“Actually, quite a few sickos,” he explained. “In fact, the percentage of serial killers who admit to killing for pleasure is quite high. Not to mention it’s pretty popular with the public, with these ‘thrill killers’ being highly characterized and even romanticized in movies. In one incidence-”

“Reid,” Hotch interrupted him with a long suffering sigh, and Spencer awkwardly stopped himself mid-sentence, pressing his lips together. 

“Right,” He grimaced, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels, effectively chastised. “Sorry.” 

Harrison opened the door to an old office and ushered them inside. There were a few white boards sporadically set up around a table that had been pushed off to the side, presumably to make room. Spencer got to work pinning the maps and such to one white board before moving to the other and getting started on victimology. Hotch and JJ continued speaking with Harrison just near the door, but already he was drowning them out in favor of focusing on the task at hand. 

Once everything was up on the boards, he took a step back, rubbing his chin with his hand. There weren’t any physical or geographical similarities between the victims, at least none that were obvious. The youngest victim was twenty-two year old Vanessa Grant, and the oldest was fifty-three year old Marcus Hale. Clearly, there was a preference for neither gender nor age, and looking at the pictures of the victims it was obvious that no particular race or even religion was being targeted either. 

Spencer bit his lip as he thought it over- an unsub with no clear target group was unpredictable. Everyone was at risk, not to mention that if they couldn’t find any clues in the victimology, finding the unsub would be that much more difficult. Right now, the only hints they had to go on was the geographical center of the killings- the college campus. But that was thousands of students, and not all of them were young adults. Not to mention, there was something about the map that bothered Spencer. He couldn’t put his finger on it; it was like when there was a word on the tip of your tongue, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t think of it. Right there, but so out of reach.

He flipped open his cell, hitting the speed dial button for Garcia. “Hello, queen of all things tech at your service. What can I do for you today?”

“Garcia, I need you to try and find a connection between the victims, one that isn’t obvious like age or gender or race. Were any or all of them taking classes and the University of Wisconsin Green Bay?”

“Hmm, one second,” came her voice, and he put the phone on speaker, setting it down on the table as he turned back to stare at the white boards again. “No, sorry. The fourth victim, Dana Alvi, was taking online courses with the school, but that’s it.”

Spencer bit his lip in irritation. He didn’t like when things didn’t connect. Usually he could recognize patterns, but this… this case made his skin crawl in more ways than one. “Alright. Try going through their credit card info, background information. They’ve got to have something in common. Something they did, somewhere they went, someone they know. Also, can you look for students with dark blue sedans as their registered vehicles? That type of car has been spotted at multiple crime scenes.”

“Anything for you, my tall sexy genius,” Garcia purred, and Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” He flipped his phone shut and got back to glaring at the whiteboards. He focused in on the map of the city, tacking little flags on the murder locations. Something about it just didn’t look right- while there was a clear geographical center, the unsub clearly favored the west side of the city. There had to be a reason for that, but he just. Couldn’t figure it out. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the thing that first drew his attention away from the boards was the arrival of the rest of their team. Derek greeted him first, striding over to lean against the table next to him. “Hey, pretty boy, what you got so far?”

Spencer dutifully ignored the tightness in his chest when Derek called him pretty boy, and instead sighed loudly. “Nothing,” he admitted, sounding frustrated. “I can’t find anything that connects the victims. I’ve got Garcia looking into it for me, but right now I can’t do anything.”

Derek hummed in response, glancing at him with what looked like concern. “Well, until she calls back, I guess your job is to just continue being smarter than everyone else in the room.”

“And prettier,” Emily chimed in. Her voice sounded like she was teasing, but when Spencer looked over, her gaze was pointedly fixed on Derek. He watched her smirk at him, and Derek turned to face the whiteboards again, looking embarrassed. Spencer frowned, but ultimately decided to shrug it off.

“So what did you guys find at the scene?” he asked.

“Nothing useful,” Rossi huffed. “JJ was right, the crime scenes are spotless. Whoever did this either has practice, or they know a lot about what we look for at a crime scene.”

“I can call Garcia, tell her to look for people around the campus area with a history of violence,” Derek offered.

Spencer nodded. “Also ask her to cross reference it with students taking any sort of major that could give them prior information about stuff like this- biology, criminology, stuff like that.” Derek nodded, flipping open his phone and moving to the other side of the room to make the call. To himself more than anyone, he thought aloud, “You know, if the unsub is familiar with how we collect evidence and connect killings, that could explain the different methods of killing. Maybe they didn’t want the murders to be connected. Suggests an organized killer.”

“But they kill on the same two days weekly,” Emily pointed out, “not to mention the obvious geographical pattern.”

“It’s like they haven’t thought out all the variables. Organized but misinformed, maybe?”

“Or the unsub hasn’t completely decided if they want to get caught or not,” Rossi suggested. That was dangerous- “It’s like they’re organized, yet disorganized at the same time.”

Hotch frowned from his place next to Rossi. “We haven’t seen anything like this before.”

* * * * *

Thursday morning the news broke that the live-in students were being asked to stay on campus for the weekend. There was surprisingly minimal pushback from the students themselves, though the police department _had_ gotten a number of calls from disgruntled parents. Garcia has spent the day running background checks on students and cross-checking lists, but to no avail. It was casting a shadow of doubt onto their current theory- either the killer was better than they thought, or they’d been wrong about it being a student. But they couldn’t just drop the meager profile they had because of that, so the plan stayed. 

After a long day of interviewing the family and friends of the victims, Spencer and Morgan drove to the campus that night to meet with the dean, as well as the head of campus police. As it were, neither of them seemed very pleased with the suggestion that the killer might be one of their students.

“I’ve closed the campus like you asked, because I didn’t have a choice with the police department all but demanding it. But I have to ask- what makes you think the killer is a student at my school?” asked the dean, Marcus Linn. His hands were clasped together on the table in front of him, and he looked like he’d just swallowed something sour. Standing next to him, Jacob Hoffman, head of campus police, wore a similar expression. 

“Well, we’re still working on building our profile, but right now all the signs seem to point in this direction,” Spencer explained, gesturing with his hands to the map he’d brought along, laid out on the table. “If you look at the locations of the murders on this map of the city, you can see that there’s an area in the middle that the unsub is avoiding- that sort of avoidance is generally indicative of the place where the unsub feels most comfortable, such as a home or workplace. Criminals don’t want to draw attention to the areas they frequent as a way to avoid detection, but in doing so they actually end up making it easier to pinpoint their base of operations. And your campus is almost directly at the absolute center of this unsub’s map.”

Derek nodded along. “We’ve also profiled the unsub as being young because of the experimental nature of some of the murders. Put those two together, you’ve got a college student.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Marcus asked. 

Derek frowned. “Then we’re wrong,” he told him. “But then we’d know and be able to rule out ten thousand suspects.” At the wary look on the dean’s face, he added, “And wouldn’t you rather we tried and were wrong than if we hadn’t and ended up being right?”

The dean got that sour look on his face again. “I suppose.”

Spencer exchanged a glance with Derek, each of them feeling the hostility the dean was trying to hide behind his veil of professionalism. Choosing not to comment on it, however, Spencer simply asked, “Is there anywhere we could set up for a while? Our Unit Chief was hoping we’d be able to stick around a bit, in case anything happened.”

The dean looked to Hoffman, who nodded. “There’s not much space in my department,” he admitted, “but there’s a seating area not far down the hall. I’m afraid that’ll have to do.”

Derek seemed like he wanted to object, so he spoke up before that could happen. “Whatever works. Um, thank you.” He quickly gathered his map and gestured for Derek to follow him out of the room. Together they made their way down the hall to where they could see the seating area. Spencer could feel Derek’s eyes on him, so he cleared his throat to explain. “You looked kinda pissed in there.”

“I was pissed because he was,” Derek shot back. “Why wouldn’t he want us to catch this killer? Because doing so might hurt the campus’ reputation? That’s bullshit.”

Spencer grimaced in understanding. “It is,” he agreed. There wasn’t much else he had to say about it.

Derek huffed angrily. “People like that… they make me wonder.” At the questioning look from his companion, he explained, “How they got to be in such a position of power, when all they care about is the shit that doesn’t matter. Like appearances.”

There was something about his tone, his wording, that made Spencer look at him a little closer. The words were a double edged sword, it seemed. Yeah, Derek was clearly annoyed with the dean, but Spencer thought he might also be alluding to someone else. It wasn’t something Derek liked to talk about out loud, but sometimes he couldn’t help showing that he was thinking about it, even if he hadn’t meant to. Carefully, as they made their way over to a table in the back corner of the sitting area, Spencer asked, “Morgan, are you okay?”

Derek looked at him, and Spencer could see the walls building up behind his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He must not have looked convinced, though, because he reiterated, “I’m _fine_ , Reid. Don’t try to profile me.” 

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, guilty. “I can’t exactly help it.” Derek seemed like he wanted to say something back, but he opted for silence, working his jaw as he stared at the surface of the table with a barely contained insult burning his tongue. He wasn’t going to snap at Reid. He _wasn’t_ going to snap at Reid, the kid only wanted to help. It wasn’t his fault he was having a bad day, wasn’t his fault that the dean might have reminded him of Buford. And anyway, they had a case to work on.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s build this profile.”

* * * * *

Apparently, when faced with the options of fight or flight, this particular unsub chose to fight. This was made abundantly clear the next morning by the discovery of a body in the back corner of the courtyard. The area was taped off quickly and both the police and the BAU arrived on the scene fairly quickly, but even then the grassy area was crowded with curious students trying to get a glimpse of the crime. 

Hotch was kneeling by the body, lifting up the blood-stained sheet. Spencer could see multiple stab wounds from where he was standing just behind him. 

Derek was holding a student I.D., found in the victim’s wallet. “Kenny Ramirez,” he announced. Then, face falling, he said, “He was only a freshman.” 

“This kill was angry,” Spencer observed, and Hotch nodded, positioning the sheet to cover the body again. 

“The unsub knows we’re closing in on them, and they’re pissed,” Hotch agreed. “They’re devolving.”

“This also means that the killing is likely a compulsion,” Emily said. “If it wasn’t, they would’ve waited until campus opened back up again so they could kill somewhere else and avoid outing themselves as a student. The fact that they couldn’t tells us that reason doesn’t always have to take precedence over the pleasure of the kill.”

Hotch grimaced, standing up and glancing around the scene. “Prentiss, take pictures of everyone here watching. The unsub may have wanted to come back to relive this crime- it was angry, which means it might have emotional significance. Morgan, call Garcia and have her look into Kenny Ramirez, I want to know if him being the victim was random or targeted. The rest of us- we need to deliver the profile. We’re going to get it to every student on campus.”

* * * * *

Spencer had been tasked with staying on campus along with Rossi as the investigation went on. The profile had been sent out to the entire student body via email, with a note at the end encouraging people to come in if they knew anybody who fit it. So far, it was a slow day- aside from the actual murder and the finalization of the profile, nothing else had happened to further the investigation. Currently, he was speeding through some book on astrophysics while Rossi tapped away on his phone, waiting for something to happen. 

As it turned out, it didn’t take long. He was only about halfway through the book when Officer Hoffman approached the table, clearing his throat loudly to get their attention. Spencer’s hand stopped moving down the page and he looked up. The other man was staring at him skeptically, eyeing the book he was holding. 

“Can you actually read that fast?” he asked. “I watched you turn the page three times just on my way over here.”

Spencer perked up, closing his book as he shifted in his seat. “I’m able to read words at a rate of twenty thousand per minute- a conscious mind can only process 16 bits of information per second while an unconscious mind can process up to a million. I have an eidetic memory, so even those bits of information I attain unconsciously I can remember perfectly.” He realized as he was talking that maybe his long-winded reply was a bit much, and he realized that it _definitely_ had been too much upon noticing the confounded expression on the officer’s face, and the tired, exasperated look on Rossi’s. Clearing his throat sheepishly, Spencer amended, “Yes, I can actually read that fast.”

Officer Hoffman gave him a flat look. “Right,” he said, glancing between the two of them. “Well, I’m letting you know that we’ve got a student over in the Dean’s office who says she knows someone that matches your profile. Thought you’d want to know.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Rossi said, moving to stand up. Spencer followed suit, tucking his book under his arm. “Is there anywhere we can interview her here?”

Hoffman nodded. “We’ve got some quiet rooms in the library; those’ll have to do, I’m afraid.”

“Whatever works,” Rossi agreed. “Lead the way.”

The pair of them followed Hoffman down the hall and up a few flights of stairs to the aforementioned quiet rooms. Evidently the girl had been told to meet them there, as she was already seated and waiting in the one furthest from the entrance. She had plain brown hair in a ponytail and seemed to be rather short, though it was hard to tell when she was sitting. She looked nervous, wringing her hands together as she stared at the surface of the table she was at. 

Spencer knocked softly on the door before opening it, grabbing her attention. Hey eyes shot up and landed on him as he stepped inside, Rossi following closely behind. “Hi,” he greeted her, giving an awkward smile. “My name is Spencer Reid, and this is David Rossi, we’re with the FBI. Can I ask what your name is?”

“Grace,” said the girl. “Grace Farlan.”

“Alright Grace, Officer Hoffman said you think you might know someone who fits the profile we sent out, is that right?” 

Grace nodded, looking back down at the table. Quietly, she admitted, “Yeah, my roommate. Sylvia Jones.” 

Spencer looked at Rossi, who was quick to write the name down, before turning back to Grace. “Can you tell us why you think it’s her?”

“Well, you said that- that they’d get really angry over small stuff. And that they would have a routine but break it consistently. Also that they’d have been desensitized to violence, and I know that her dad was… not the nicest guy. I saw it for myself once, too, on move-in day. And when she’s not angry, sometimes it feels like she just… doesn’t feel. Plus, she um, she wasn’t in our room last night. She didn’t get back until late. Like, really late.”

“When you say she doesn’t feel, do you mean like she has sociopathic tendencies?” Rossi asked. 

Grace shook her head, then seemed to rethink it, and shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem completely emotionless, just… I don’t know, disinterested? But if she’s talking about herself, she’s pretty animated.”

“Narcissism,” Rossi named, and Grace nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Also part of the profile,” he pointed out. Spencer hummed in agreement, but he was focused on the almost frantic way Grace was wringing her hands. 

“Grace, you seem nervous,” he pointed out, and Grace’s eyes shot from the table to his face like a deer in headlights. She brought her hands closer to her chest, but they didn’t stop moving. “Is everything alright?”

“I just- um.” She inhaled sharply, looking embarrassed. “If you talk to her, can you please not tell her I was the one who turned her in?” 

Spencer could feel Rossi’s eyes on him, could see the skeptical look in his peripheral. They wouldn’t have disclosed that information anyway, but it was curious that she specified her wish to remain unnamed. “Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t know for sure that it’s her, it’s just- the email said anyone suspicious who fits the profile. But statistically, there’s got to be more than one person who fits that profile, right?” She looked to Spencer for confirmation, who nodded his agreement. “If it isn’t her, I don’t want her to know that I thought it _was_ her. She’d get so mad, and then I’d have to live with her for the rest of the semester, and- it would be really awkward.” 

“I can imagine,” Rossi said. The way she’d talked about statistics had perked his interest, Spencer could tell.

“Thank you,” Spencer told her, moving to stand. “You’re free to go, but I’d like to stay in touch in case we have any more questions, is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Grace nodded. Spencer took a piece of paper from Rossi’s notepad and scribbled down his number, handing it over.

“Call me if you think of anything else,” he said. He watched as she nodded again and made her way out the door and through the library. Next to him, Rossi did the same.

“Interesting young lady,” Rossi observed, and Reid couldn’t help but agree. “She turned her roommate in as a match to the profile, but was concerned about what might happen if it turned out she wasn’t guilty.”

“You think she was lying?” Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow. The girl had seemed nervous, anxious, even, but he didn’t think she hadn’t been telling the truth. 

Rossi frowned, stumped. “I don’t know,” he admitted slowly. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone and dialed Garcia. 

“Green means go!”

“Garcia, I need you to find out everything you can about Sylvia Jones, apparently she fits the profile, might be our unsub,” Rossi ordered. 

“Of course, my liege,” Garcia said sweetly. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I also want you to look into Grace Farlan for me.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow at Rossi, but didn’t object. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?” asked the techie. 

“I’m not sure,” Rossi said. “Just, get back to me when you can. And make Sylvia the priority.”

“Got it, gorgeous queen of tech signing out!” 

Rossi flipped his phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket. “You really think she’s hiding something?” Spencer asked him.

“Call it a hunch,” he responded with a shrug. “I could be wrong, but it doesn’t hurt to check. Now come on, let’s get back to the station. I wanna watch this interview with the roommate.”

* * * * * 

By the time Spencer and Rossi got back to the station, Sylvia was already in the interrogation room. She’d been picked up by Prentiss and JJ, and was currently being interviewed by the two as well. Rossi joined Hotch and Detective Harrison behind the two-way mirror while Spencer retreated back to the conference room where the maps and files were with a pair of coffee cups. Morgan was at the table, slowly sifting through a stack of papers. He seemed tired, his cheek resting against his hand as his elbow on the table propped him up. He looked up when Spencer entered, giving a sleepy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he said, and Spencer’s stomach did a series of complicated flip-flops that had him swallowing hard. He did his best to ignore it, setting one of the coffees on the table in front of Derek who wrapped his hands around it gratefully, taking a long sip as Spencer sat himself in the chair one over from him. “Thank you, God, I needed that.”

Spencer wanted to ask if he’d slept well, because he knew that the answer was going to be no, but he didn’t know how and he also knew that Derek wouldn’t respond kindly if he did. Awkwardly, he smiled, and took a sip of his own sugary coffee. “We’ve got a suspect in questioning right now,” he offered weakly, and Derek hummed around his drink in response. “Her roommate says she fits the profile.”

“Wonder how the dean feels about that,” Derek grumbled. He didn’t sound angry, but Spencer could tell that he still wasn’t fond of the man in question. 

He didn’t exactly know how to respond to that, or if he should respond, so he decided to cut in with a reassuring statistic. “You know, according to our own data, a crime is committed on a college campus once every ten minutes, which averages out to approximately fifty thousand recorded incidents per year.” Derek just stared at him, so Spencer barreled on, gripping his mug tightly. “And given that there’s only an estimated fifty-three hundred universities in the United States, that means, statistically, that this is probably isn’t even the first crime to take place on this campus in just this month. I wonder how the dean must feel about _that_.” 

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched upwards like he couldn’t help it, and his eyes moved to stare down at the dwindling amount of coffee in his cup. Softly, he said, “Thanks, kid.”

Spencer wanted to reassure Derek that they all had cases that were tough for them, and that it was okay, but the words were stuck in his throat. He managed to get out an awkward “No problem,” just fine, though, and the two of them left it at that. 

Spencer took a few of the files from Derek’s stack and sifted through them before going back to staring at the map. Someone had added the most recent killing to the board, right smack in the center of the little green blob that was the college campus. His eyes moved to catch on the three outliers, sitting along the west side of the city. What was so special about those three points? They seemed out of place, like they didn’t belong to the same map. 

Suddenly, Spencer was struck with a thought. He fumbled for his pocket, pulling out his phone and catching Derek’s attention. He pressed the call button for Garcia, who picked up almost immediately. “What’s shakin’ bacon? I was just about to call you,” was how she greeted him, and Spencer adjusted himself in his seat so that he was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Garcia, I need you to look into any and all suspicious deaths in the Green Bay Area going back six months. Focus specifically on the West Side, can you do that?”

He could almost hear the smirk in her voice when she replied, “Sugar, you know I can.” He heard the distant sounds of her fingers hitting her keyboard. “Also, I looked into those two girls Rossi mentioned. That Sylvia girl definitely fits the profile- abusive dad that died when she was young, mom remarried to a stepdad who was almost worse than the first one. Kicked out of her first middle school for bringing, and get this, a ‘knife covered in animal blood’ to a class presentation, they never even found the animal the blood belonged to. Around two months before the murders started, the step-dad finally kicked the bucket, which could serve as a possible stressor. Classic unsub behavior.”

Reid heard it in her voice, the _something extra_ , so he prodded. “But?” 

Garcia sighed. “ _But_ ,” she said, “Hotch called a minute ago to confirm an alibi, and it checks out. Sylvia said she was on facetime with a friend until well past the time of the murder. Both the friend and the phone records confirm it. Her cell never even left the building.”

Spencer frowned. “But her roommate says she didn’t get back until late.”

“Claims she was in the lounge on the first floor.” This was Rossi, who had just entered followed by the rest of the team. 

Derek groaned. “Let me guess, no cameras to back it up, though.”

“Yahtzee,” Rossi confirmed his suspicions. 

Hotch shook his head. “This girl might be trouble, but I’m not sure she’s the trouble we’re looking for. Garcia, what did you find on the roommate?”

“And this is where it gets interesting,” announced the tech analyst. “Grace Farlan, aka Grace Lancaster. She had her last name changed when she moved in with her grandmother at age sixteen, for reasons unclear because records show her parents are still alive and kicking. She had an older brother who she was apparently very close to, killed himself when she was fourteen and oh- poor thing, she’s the one who found the body. Her record is pretty boring aside from two counts of possession of marijuana, a shoplifting charge and a parking ticket from three years ago, all around the same time her address changed to match her grandmother’s. Diagnosed with severe anxiety around a year ago. She graduated with honors from Tremper High School in Kenosha at age seventeen, and went on to double major in biology and chemistry with a minor in, drumroll please, forensic science.”

“Those are all majors I flagged,” Spencer blinked, looking at Rossi. Maybe the older man had been right to be suspicious of Grace- that didn’t make him feel any better about it. 

“I’ll send someone to pick her up, we need to interview her,” Hotch said. “Prentiss, you and Morgan go, the rest of us will stay here.” The two agents stood, gathering their essentials and moving to leave as Spencer gripped his phone a bit tighter.

“Garcia, is there any indication of a stressor?”

“None that I can find, no.”

“Alright, thanks. Call me back when you’ve got the info on suspicious deaths.”

“You got it, babycakes. Garcia out.”

Spencer sighed at the nickname, pressing his phone to his chin as he frowned thoughtfully. He could feel Hotch staring at him, and glanced over to see the man stoically raising an eyebrow in his direction. “What’s on your mind?” he asked. 

“Something about this doesn’t feel right,” he admitted, fidgeting with his phone. “We profiled that the unsub would have prior offences, but Grace only has minor drug charges and one count of shoplifting. Aside from a tragic backstory, there’s nothing to indicate she might be the one responsible for all of this.”

“If she’s as organized as we thought she might be, then maybe she just wasn’t caught those first times either,” JJ suggested.

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t think she’d be able to hide anything like that. She could barely look me in the eye during that interview, she was practically shaking in his chair. With anxiety that severe you’d think the pressure to not get caught would be overwhelming. Not to mention we profile this unsub as organized, and not the type to insert themselves into the investigation. If she really was the killer, why would she show up and point the finger at someone who she knew would turn out innocent? She had to know how that would look for her.”

Rossi looked skeptical, but Spencer could tell he was winning him over. “Maybe,” the Italian caved. 

They continued the back and forth until eventually, Grace was brought into the station. She was led, in cuffs, to the interrogation room. Spencer watched through the window of the conference room as she was led across the bullpen. She certainly didn’t _seem_ like a killer. Her eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal- scared, but not guilty. Next to him, Rossi stared as she disappeared down the hall.

“If she’s an actor, she’s a good one, I’ll give her that,” admitted the man. 

They retreated to the table, sitting in silence for a few minutes until the door opened and Hotch stepped in. Spencer looked up at him, asking with his eyes how it was going. “She wants to talk to Reid,” Hotch told them.

Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

Hotch looked at him flatly. “You know anyone else named Reid?”

Spencer caved, standing up and following Hotch to the interrogation room. Detective Harrison was waiting with Derek in the viewing area, and upon his arrival moved to open the door. Spencer walked in and carefully shut the door behind him, taking a seat at the table in front of the file that was sitting on the table across from Grace. 

“Hey, Grace, do you remember me?” he asked, taking note of her nervous demeanor. “I’m one of the agents you talked to about your roommate.”

Grace’s eyes flicked up to look at him, just for a moment. Her mouth twisted into a frown. “I requested you,” she said as an answer, sounding frustrated. Of course she remembered him, she’d asked to talk to him specifically. Clearly she didn’t appreciate being treated like she was stupid. He could work with that.

“Right, sorry,” he amended. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Do you know why you’re in here?”

“Well I’m in handcuffs right now, so I don’t really think this is a courtesy follow-up,” she huffed quietly. The words could come off as cocky, but the nervous way she said them made Spencer think that it was more of a humor-as-a-coping-mechanism situation. 

“Would you like me to uncuff you?” Spencer asked. “It might be more comfortable.”

Grace looked up at him. “Is that a trick question?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

The student chewed on her lip for a moment before answering, “Yes, please.”

“Alright.” Spencer gestured toward the mirror, and a moment later Detective Harrison came in with the keys, striding over to Grace to unlock them. He left them on the table, sending a glance Spencer’s way as he retreated. It said, _I hope you know what you’re doing_. 

“Thank you,” Grace muttered. Spencer didn’t acknowledge it, instead getting into the interrogation. 

“Grace, you know I have to ask you where you were last night during the murder,” he told her, and she nodded.

Taking a shaky breath, she said, “I was in my dorm room. Alone. I was writing an essay for my creative writing class.”

“Creative writing?” he asked. “That doesn’t coincide with any of your majors.”

“It’s a gen ed,” Grace told him. “Everyone’s required to take a course with a writing emphasis, no matter the major.”

“And I’m assuming you’re the only person who can account for your whereabouts?”

Grace hung her head, defeated. “Yeah,” she whispered. 

Spencer sighed, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “You know how this looks, doesn’t it?”

“It looks like I killed all those people and then tried to put the blame on my roommate.” It was a blunt response, said sadly. “I don’t suppose there’s some magic way you can confirm I was using my computer all last night, is there?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say no, but then thought better of it as he remembered just who he had for a coworker. “Actually, hold on,” he said. “Hotch, did you hear that?”

Two knocks sounded from behind the glass, a _yes_. Spencer smiled, and Grace stared back at him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?” she asked.

He nodded. “We’ll find out.” Grace’s mouth pulled into a disbelieving smile, letting out a little huff of a laugh. 

“Cool.”

“While they’re doing that, I’ve got some more questions I’d like to ask you, is that okay?” When she nodded, Spencer continued. “Part of my job is to look into the psyche of criminals to determine why they do the things that they do. That includes potential suspects. My coworker ran a background check on you and we found a few things that raised some flags, so I’ve got to ask about them.” Grace grimaced, but she was smart, and knew that she couldn’t just not answer the questions because it was uncomfortable. Spencer took it as the go ahead. “When you were sixteen, you changed your last name and moved in with your grandmother. Why was that?”

Grace’s expression shuttered closed, clearly remembering something unpleasant. Taking a deep breath, she admitted, “It wasn’t my choice. My parents kicked me out.”

“Can I ask why?”

She stared at him flatly. “You’re going to ask no matter what I say,” she mumbled. “I’m gay. They’re evangelical. You do the math.”

Oh. There was a sharp pain in Spencer’s chest at the words, like someone had taken a spade and begun digging a hole right where his heart was. He understood that- he wasn’t necessarily out, but the fear of rejection over his sexuality was still there. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if that fear became realized, especially by his own mother. Not quite knowing how to respond, he tried empathizing. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”

“Rough enough to turn me into a killer?” Grace huffed. He could hear in her voice that she was getting frustrated, but there was a wobbly thickness to her words as well that he knew as an indicator that she was close to crying. “Look, I know how it looks. I know my record, I know what I’ve been through. But I promise, I didn’t kill all those people. Ask me where I was the nights of the other murders, I’ve got to have an alibi for some of them!”

Spencer looked at her, hard. He saw the tremble of her bottom lip, the shine to her brown eyes. Finally, he said, “I believe you.”

Grace stared at him with wide eyes. “You do?”

“I do,” he confirmed. There was a knock on the glass, probably Hotch wanting to talk to him. He pushed back from the table, standing. “I’ll be right back.” Grace nodded and he made his way to the door, stepping into the viewing room.

“Garcia just got back to me,” was the first thing Hotch said. “Her computer log shows consistent activity until around two in the morning. She found the essay, too. Time stamp shows it was completed around midnight.”

“So the alibi checks out.”

Hotch nodded, pursing his lips. “It does. Which is very lucky for her.” He tilted his head toward the mirror, through which they could see Grace sitting at the table. 

“And less lucky for us,” Detective Harrison sighed. “We’re back to square one on suspects.”

Spencer grimaced, but nodded. “I’ll let her know,” he said, going to push the door back open. Grace looked up when he entered, expression anticipatory. “The alibi checks out, you’re free to go.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief as she let out a loud breath. “Oh thank god,” she gasped. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re innocent, you shouldn’t need to thank me.”

“You helped prove it, though,” she reminded him. “Can you- can you say thank you to your magic technical coworker for me too?”

Spencer smiled kindly. “Of course. We’ll have one of the officers drive you back to your dorm. Cuff free this time.”

“Thank you,” she said again, then paused in the doorway like stopping had been an afterthought. “Um.” She looked down at her feet, seeming awkward all of a sudden instead of relieved. “I really hope you catch whoever is doing this. And I’m really sorry for telling you guys about my roommate. It probably just wasted your time.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Spencer assured her. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

Grace met his eyes one last time and sent a grateful smile his way, before a deputy arrived to escort her out of the station. He lingered in the interrogation room for a moment before leaving, meeting Hotch in the viewing room. His boss looked at him appraisingly. “You did good in there,” he said.

Spencer smiled. “Thanks.” He couldn’t help but be glad that Grace had been proven innocent. He’d liked her, even related to her a bit- young and smart and queer was a hard thing to be, but so far she seemed to have turned out alright. He understood now how his coworkers could sometimes grow attached to certain people involved in a case. Feeling the urge to help someone who you weren’t supposed to help because of a promise, or a forged connection, or because they reminded you of yourself. Spencer was just glad that this time, the person from the case he connected with wasn’t the unsub.

Unfortunately, now he had to push Grace out of his mind and focus on finding the real unsub, because if the killer was devolving like they thought, then it might not be long before another body turned up.

* * * * *

Not long after the deputy returned from dropping off Grace, Spencer received a call from Garcia. “Hey, what did you get?” he greeted her.

“I’ve got two more suspicious deaths, one stabbing and one strangling done with a belt,” was the answer. “Both took place a whole month before the rest of the murders, which is probably why they weren’t connected to the case. I’m assuming you wanted me to look into these because you thought they could be the work of our unsub?”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. He leaned over the table, grabbing the sticky tabs and heading over to the map. “Can you give me the locations?”

“Of course, baby,” Garcia crooned. She read them out, and Spencer quickly added a sticky tab to the map for each one. Stepping back, he looked over the map, and suddenly his eyes widened with realization. He was about to smack himself in the face. 

“Oh, Garcia,” he mumbled, half to himself and half to the woman on the other end of the line. “Oh, Garcia, I’m so stupid!” he exclaimed, rushing to grab a marker. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! I’m so blind!”

“Okay, that’s the most untrue sentence I’ve ever heard spoken in my life,” Garcia defended him. “Also, tell me what you see.”

“The outliers! There were only three of them before, so I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t seem to fit with the circle of locations that led us to the campus but I got it, I can see it now that we have more locations. They weren’t outliers, they were part of a second circle. There’s another comfort zone.”

“Oh!” Garcia exclaimed, as he frantically connected the dots and calculated the geographical center. 

“Garcia, I’m sending you parameters for the second comfort zone. Tell me, do any Green Bay students live in that area?” He quickly typed out the coordinates and hit send. Not even a second later, he heard the rapid tapping of Garcia’s keyboard. 

“Yeah, three!” she said. “Michael Mogetti, Tanya Finberg and- oh, oh no.”

Reid sucked in a breath. “What? What is it?”

“River Linn. That’s the friend who confirmed Sylvia’s alibi.”

Spencer frowned. “Linn?” he asked. “Is that-?”

“The dean’s daughter?” Garcia finished for him, to the sound of more keys clacking. “Bingo, yes she is. I’m looking into it right now.” Spencer waited with bated breath, and suddenly he heard Garcia gasp. “I think I just found our unsub.”

“What is it?”

“A sealed record, of course, I’m so stupid- it didn’t show up in my initial search of student records because it isn’t public. Multiple counts of animal cruelty and aggravated assault. Bet daddy paid a lot of money to make those go away. Oh, and get this. She’s a criminology major, and the vehicle registered in her name is a-”

“Dark blue sedan, like the one spotted at some of the crime scenes” Spencer finished. His mind racing, dots were suddenly being connected, lines were being crossed, and just like that a lightbulb went off in his head. “She’s the dominant.”

“What?”

“She isn’t the unsub, she’s _one_ of the unsubs,” he realized, already standing and grabbing his vest. “She doesn’t live on campus, does she?”

More typing. “No, she doesn’t.”

“That’s why we couldn’t figure out how an organized unsub who clearly knew how to evade detection was leaving such an obvious trail, it was on purpose. Her partner is Sylvia, and she’s been planning from the very beginning that if the murders were connected, they’d lead to the campus instead of her house. Thursdays and Fridays are when they kill, to make us think the unsub is someone who leaves campus only for the weekends. Sylvia is her scapegoat, and she has no idea.”

“They’re working together!” Garcia gasped, and Spencer nodded despite knowing she couldn’t see him.

“Which is why Sylvia’s alibi checked out, she probably opened facetime and left her phone in the dorm, then had her partner help her with the lie.” He grabbed his gun and holster from the table, hurriedly strapping it on. “I’ve gotta go,” he announced.

“I’m sending you River’s address and Sylvia’s dorm now. Oh! Be careful!” Garcia told him as he hung up. 

Spencer burst into the bullpen, drawing the attention of the rest of his team and the cops present. “Guys, I know who the unsubs are.”

Prentiss’ eyes widened. “Unsubs?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And we just sent Grace straight to one of them.”

* * * * *

Spencer, Derek and JJ were pulling up in front of Sylvia’s dorm building when JJ’s phone rang. She picked it up as they stepped out of the car, nodding as whoever was on the other line spoke. “Alright, thanks,” she said, flipping it shut. She turned to the others. “They got River.”

Spencer was trying to get a hold of Grace, whose number he’d gotten from Garcia, but each time it rang out and he was sent to voicemail. “Grace isn’t picking up.”

“I hope she’s okay,” JJ said, and Spencer found himself wishing the same. Derek pulled into the circle in front of the dorm, quickly setting the car in park and hopping out, drawing his gun, Spencer and JJ following suit. The three of them made their way to the entrance, which was opened by a wide-eyed student who’d seen them coming from the lounge. They quickly went up the stairs and found the door marked with Sylvia and Grace’s names.

“Sylvia Jones! FBI, open up!” Derek called. There was a muffled squeak from inside and some shuffling, but nobody came to the door. Fed up, Derek pulled back his boot and kicked at the handle, forcing the door open. It flew back, banging open against the wall and Derek rushed in, Spencer close behind while JJ lingered in the hall.

The dorm was a single room, and not very big, so it was easy to spot the two girls in the center. Sylvia had backed herself against the window, and in front of her was Grace, eyes wide and hands clawing at the arm around her front that held a knife to her throat. Her gaze immediately landed on Spencer, sending him a pleading look. He felt trapped. Sylvia had Grace positioned so that neither he nor Derek could get a clear shot. 

“Sylvia, let her go,” Derek warned, gun up and aimed. 

If anything, that just made Sylvia hold on tighter. “No!” she snapped, and Grace whimpered at the press of the blade on her skin. 

“Sylvia!” Derek tried again. “Sylvia, listen to me. There is no getting out of this for you, there’s no escape. But if you hurt her, I can’t guarantee that you’ll leave this room alive.”

“You aren’t going to win this,” she hissed, furious. Spencer's mind raced, overloading, too fast, as he tried to think of how to defuse the situation. How could he talk her out of this? She clearly wasn’t going to back down out of the good of her heart. He’d have to play on her weaknesses, but… oh. Oh, he got it. 

“Sylvia, River isn’t coming. She can’t get you out of this,” he said. 

“What do you know about River?!” Sylvia yelled. She was clearly surprised that they knew her name. Good, Spencer thought. He just had to throw her off her game.

“I know that she tried to blame this whole thing on you,” he told her, trying to sound kind, understanding. Slowly, he turned his barrel to the sky and held his hands in an ‘I surrender’ position, lowering his gun. He gestured for Derek to do the same.

“You’re wrong!” Sylvia snarled, adjusting the knife yet again. Spencer forced himself to keep his eyes on Sylvia, to not look at Grace, but it was hard when he could hear her terrified whimpers. “She wouldn’t do that!”

“Would she?” Spencer asked. “She’s a criminology major, she knows how to implicate. She chose when and where the murders happened, didn’t she?”

Sylvia’s eyes darted back and forth between him and Derek, cornered and frantic. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It’s how we found you,” Spencer explained. “She knew that by killing in certain locations she could lead us to a comfort zone where the killer likely lived. The murder locations pointed almost perfectly to this campus. And Thursdays and Fridays, those are the days that most on campus students go home for the weekend. She was trying to lead us to you, Sylvia. She was framing you. You’re her scapegoat.”

Sylvia let out a frustrated scream, but he could tell he was getting to her. “You’re lying!”

“Am I?” he asked, as if he were issuing a challenge.

Sylvia was quiet for a moment, eyes burning with rage, before suddenly she pushed Grace aside and charged towards Spencer with a guttural scream. She threw the knife just as Derek’s gun sounded behind him, and Spencer threw himself to the ground to avoid the flying knife. He heard it bounce off the back wall and he sucked in a deep breath at the near miss, heart pounding. 

Looking up, he saw Sylvia on the floor, a small hole in her chest seeping dark red, and Grace, still pressed against the window, eyes wide and terrified. He quickly pushed himself off the floor and gestured for her to come toward him. She noticed, and shakily rushed around the body of her roommate, knocking into Spencer’s chest as she hugged him tightly. The uncomfortable crawl of his skin at the contact made him shudder, but he forced himself to ignore it and wrap his arms around her shoulders as she buried her face in his chest, tears soaking his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, and when he looked over his shoulder both Derek and JJ were watching with a soft, sad look in their eyes. “It’s okay, it’s over.”

* * * * *

Back on the jet, Spencer couldn’t help but get lost in his thoughts. He was trying to finish his book, but he’d been staring at the same page for five minutes, which might have been a record for him. So much about that case had been hard. The fact that the dean had been so concerned about appearances that he couldn’t admit his school might be the home of a murdered, or that his own daughter concerned him (they’d asked, and Marcus hadn’t known she was the unsub, but it still didn’t sit right with Spencer). The fact that his demeanor reminded Derek so much of the man who had abused him as a teen. The fact that they’d let one of the unsubs go. The fact that they’d had to shoot her, which seemed to happen far too often but still affected them all. The fact that, when asked why she did it, River Linn had simply responded with, “Because I can.”

But Spencer also couldn’t help thinking of Grace. She really did remind him of himself, but he also thought that maybe she was better than he was. Because despite everything, she was herself. She didn’t hide her sexuality from the people around her, no matter the consequences. It was like she knew that acceptance wasn’t worth it if the people who accepted you weren’t accepting the whole truth of you. That if they did know the truth, and wouldn’t accept that, then they didn’t matter.

Spencer thought he might believe that too, but he could only wish to be brave enough to live by it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by someone sitting in the chair across from him, and when he looked up he saw it was Derek. The other man looked at him with concern and understanding, the type of look that made his skin crawl. “Hey, pretty boy. You’ve been staring at that page for a while now. Something on your mind?”

Yes, he wanted to say. He bit his lip. He didn’t know if he could. “I don’t know.”

Derek gave him a humorless smile. “Yeah, you do,” he called him out. “I think this case was a little rough for both of us.” When Spencer only nodded, and didn’t elaborate, he added, “You know you can talk to me about it.”

“I know,” he assured him. There was a lull in conversation, one that he spent contemplating his response and Derek spent waiting for it. Spencer knew that Derek wouldn’t pressure him if he didn’t want to talk, but at the same time… he sort of wanted to. It was risky, and terrifying, but also, something about the open, caring way that Derek was staring at him made him think that maybe it would be okay.

“Morgan, I-” Derek raised an eyebrow at him, and he flushed, clearing his throat. “Derek,” he amended. “I’m…” he shook his head. That didn’t sound right. He tried again. “I couldn’t help but think about Grace. And how I sort of related to her.”

Derek looked at him like he was trying to figure out where this was going. “We all have cases where we connect with someone,” he offered, and Reid let out a sharp breath, frustrated that he wasn’t getting it.

“No, I meant. That I’m like her,” he explained, wringing his hands. He couldn’t look Derek in the eye. “How she’s smart. And small, and probably underestimated a lot. But also-” he paused, taking a deep breath. “But also, other stuff.”

He risked glancing at Derek through his eyelashes, waiting for a response. It took a moment, but he could see the moment that realization set in, and Derek’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “Oh,” he said, and Spencer’s stomach clenched. “You’re..?”

Spencer nodded. Quietly, in a whisper that only Derek could just barely hear himself, he said, “Bisexual.”

There was a second where neither of them said anything, until suddenly there was a large hand covering his own, stopping him from fidgeting. He looked up, eyes wide, at Derek, who was staring back at him with the most open and accepting expression he thinks he’d ever seen on the other man. Just the look alone was enough to make his eyes prickle embarrassingly. “Reid, man, you know I love you no matter what, right? This isn’t gonna change that.”

Spencer felt his chest swell, happiness and love and appreciation swirling behind his ribcage. He managed a small smile, admitting, “Yeah,” his voice cracking a bit when he spoke.

Derek squeezed his hands. “Good,” he said. “Cuz you’re my best friend, I ain’t going nowhere.” 

“Please don’t tell the others,” he said, and Derek nodded seriously.

“Of course. That’s all you, pretty boy,” he assured him, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile. 

Yeah, it would be alright.


End file.
